


Sleepy Mentalist

by brokenhighways



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV), The Mentalist
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Random Encounters, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenhighways/pseuds/brokenhighways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lieutenant Mills informs Ichabod Crane that they will be traveling to California at once, the first thing he does is ask for new boots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepy Mentalist

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly little thing. Lazy title is lazy. And I'm sure that Ichabod knows what a passport is. I'm sorry for being terribly unfunny. :P
> 
> Not beta'd.

Sleepy Hollow/Mentalist. Just because. 

* * *

  
  
When Lieutenant Mills informs Ichabod Crane that they will be traveling to California at once, the first thing he does is ask for new boots.   
"Boots?" she says, in that same wary tone she tends to use around him. "You should be asking me for a passport."  
  
Ichabod blinks. "Is that a type of wine that I am yet to be accustomed to?"  
  
Mills sighs deeply. It is such a common occurrence that Ichabod feels displaced if he does not hear it at least three times a day.   
  
"I'll pick you up in an hour. I'll get Irving to sort out some travel documents."   
  
~  
  
Two days later, Crane finds himself in the most irritable mood. The daylight is too bright. His stomach is seesawing dangerously as a result of that truly catastrophic "airplane" journey. Even more so than it would be if they had travelled by sea. Lieutenant Mills appears to find his predicament amusing. She accuses him of having a lagging jet.   
  
"Jet lag," she says, emphasizing the words. Ichabod purses his lips and awaits an explanation. "It's a thing that people go through after long flights."   
  
"Whatever," Ichabod replies tersely, trusting that he's used the colloquialism in the appropriate manner. Lieutenant Mills arches her eyebrow, but chooses not to comment. It is really just as well; Ichabod is feeling rather sullen at the moment.   
  
"Why exactly are we visiting this Patrick Jane again?" he asks. "Could we not have sent him an electronic mail or a Skeep call, that bizarre contraption you showed me."

“It’s _Skype_ , and he said that we had to present for the reading.”

“Ah yes, the séance,” Ichabod muses. “Which we require in order for us to have unmonitored contact with my betrothed, Katrina.” The eye roll he receives is merely a formality at this point. Before Mills can reply a young boy jogs up towards Ichabod, brandishing some sort of device his small hand. It looks like one of those cell-phones that people seem to over rely on so much these days. Honestly, technology really will be the downfall of this current manifestation of planet earth. There’s a loud clicking sound and the boy laughs and runs off. Ichabod blinks.

“Did that young man just _photograph_ me?” he asks.

“Well, I did tell you to change into more… _modern_ attire, but you refused.”

Ichabod sighs. Sometimes Mills just doesn’t get it.

~

Unable to sleep well in the motel, Ichabod finds himself perusing the World Wide Web on some sort of flat device. The Eye Pad, is what he thinks Mills had called it. Anyway, Ichabod is fast learning that the current inhabitants of earth no longer hold their privacy in the utmost regard. There are all kinds of things on the internet. It’s certainly proved to be revealing in respects to Thomas Jefferson. You could say that Ichabod was no longer “#TeamJefferson”. He opens up Google, a search engine – see he is learning, no matter how much Mills huffs and puffs.

The search term Patrick Jane brings up approximately (“or about, because the current inhabitants of Earth no longer care for the beauty of the English language) 119,000,000 results. It becomes most apparent at once that this Jane fellow is a rather handsome man. And like many handsome man, this Jane also happens to be a fraud, one with great tragedy in his life, sadly. Even so, they merely require his psychic abilities.

Abilities which Patrick Jane quite clearly states he does not have.

“There is no such thing as psychics?” Ichabod murmurs as he watches a video clip on the You Tube. “Hogwash!” Ichabod has – well, _had_ – met many a psychic in his day. And he can safely say that at least half of them had very well refined skills. Perhaps this Jane struggled to cultivate his skill. Though, if the Inner Net was to be believed, Jane and the law enforcement team that he is employed with boast that Jane’s unit has the highest clearance rate in the country. This man must know his craft extremely well.

He must be able to help them access a secure communicative line with Katrina.

~

Patrick Jane is not very tall. That is the first thing Ichabod notices as he extends himself to his full height. His shoes are extremely well worn and his hair... Well, it is the modern world. Perhaps Ichabod should not judge so freely.

“You’re not from around here are you?” Patrick Jane asks. “Or at least you don’t believe you are?”

“I am from 1781,” Ichabod says. “I was killed in battle by a—I…will let Lieutenant Mills do the talking.”

Lieutenant Mills can be a scary woman at times.

“We’re here because we need your help,” she says. “I’m Lieutenant Mills and this is Ichabod Crane.”

“That’s an unusual name,” Jane says with a bizarre but rather welcoming grin. The site of webs did state that many believed that Patrick Jane was crazy. Perhaps that was the genuine case. “But then again, you are from 1781. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That would be most welcome,” Ichabod says as he surveys the precinct that they’re in. It looks a lot different from the one in Sleepy Hollow. Ichabod is rather taken by the leather, brown sofa in the far corner. It looks most comfortable. “I am surprised that the taps in this building do not bleed coffee.”

Despite Mills several attempts to get Ichabod to see the purpose of coffee, all he sees is a putrid smelling beverage that disrupts his sleeping patterns. It is almost as ridiculous as purified water.

“I prefer tea,” Jane says before he walks off in another direction.

“We’re not here to drink tea, Crane; we’re here to get help.”

“Lieutenant, has anybody ever informed you of your chronic impatience?”

“Shut up, Crane.”

~

Patrick Jane seems to be amused by Ichabod’s predicament. He listens as they explain the situation to him. Including Ichabod’s death, his awakening, the headless horseman, the blood tie to the horseman, the severed tie to the horseman, how Katrina can only contact them in dreams – which have proven to be rather dangerous. By the time they explain that they are afraid of Moloch’s army may find out a way to distort any messages that she passes on.

“This is all very interesting and all,” Jane says. “But I’m not sure how I can help. I’m not a psychic. There’s no such thing.”

“That is nonsense!” Ichabod says. He places his cup of tea down rather brutishly. “I have seen the works of psychics with my own two eyes. Your very own website boasts of all the good deeds you did when you were practicing.”

“I keep meaning to get that thing taken down,” Jane muses quietly. “But it’s all lies. Tricks.”

 **“** So how is it that you can solve practically every single crime that your team is given to solve?” Ichabod asks. “Luck?” Mills sighs and leans back in her chair. Ichabod is no psychic, but if asked, he would guess that she is thinking something along the lines of _here we go again_.

“It’s all about reading people and building up memories,” Jane says. “Ever heard of a memory palace?”

“The Method of Loci, you mean?”

“Uh, sure, whatever you want to call it,” Jane says. “That’s all it is. I store up on details, facts, mannerisms, speech and I piece it all together at the end. Anyone could do it.”

“In that case, why have you not trained any other members of your team to utilise the same skills that you do?”

“Well…” Jane trails off.

“Ha!” Ichabod crows in triumph. “It is because you are a psychic and they are not.”

“There’s no such thing as—“

“If you say _psychics_ , so help me God, I’m going to start swinging,” Mills says sharply. Ichabod shoots her a sympathetic look. It seems the lack of caffeine in her system is making her cranky. “Come on Crane, let’s go. There’s another psychic that I’ve heard about. A Shawn Spencer?”

They are on their way out of the building when Patrick Jane catches up with them. He is short of breath from the journey and they wait patiently for him to say what he wants to say.

“There’s someone from your past, who’s possibly still around,” Jane says looking directly at Mills. “You might want to keep them on a leash. Oh and there’s someone else? A former lover maybe. He needs some help, urgently.”

“And you claim that you’re not a psychic,” Ichabod says. He doesn’t bother to hide the smirk on his face.

“I’m not,” Jane says with a nonchalant shrug. “I got all of that information from watching Mills here. She was worrying about it when you were telling me what had happened. She started to fidget when you mentioned Brooks. And there’s definitely a former lover thrown into the mix somewhere.”

“You are in denial, Mr Jane,” Ichabod says.

“Maybe you’re right, hell, stranger things have happened, Mr Crane,” Jane says. “Like meeting a man from 1781. Anyway, good luck with the whole witness and stopping the apocalypse thing.”

“Thank you, Mr Jane,” Mills says. “Good luck catching Red John.” Ah, yes. Red John. The infamous serial killer who leaves a smiling face painted with blood as some sort of decorative sign. It is a strange, new world.

“He must think that we are ‘ _nuts’_ ” Ichabod says when Mills directs him back to their rented vehicle.

“Probably,” she says. “And he’s half right. You’re kind of nuts.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, Lieutenant,” Ichabod replies. “Now…where does this Mr Spencer reside?”

“Santa Barbara. It’s not too far from here.”

“Excellent, I had feared that we would be forced to travel by plane again.”

“You do realise that we still have to fly back to Sleepy Hollow, right?”

“Oh, I’ll be buggered.”

_Fin._

 

 


End file.
